Okay, really, it was barely fifteen minutes past the time he was supposed to be picking the guy up. Fifteen minutes! Yet somehow, within that span of time, the man had succeeded in pulling off a very convincing Rocky impersonation- pick your sequel.
Blood was dripping in a steady patter from his nose, despite the soaked Kleenex he held there. And already, the skin was starting to darken with the onset of what would probably be a very impressive bruise. Kneeled by his side, the receptionist held the young man's head back with one hand cupping his skull while the other helped steady the fingers holding the tissue.
"What happened?" Ask Lassiter as he knelt down in front of the other two, peeling back the saturated tissue to assess the damage for himself.
"One of our new clients… walked in, saw Shawn, and her boyfriend just started hitting him."
"They bus ab' seeb be ob' the newb'…" said the younger man thickly.
Of course, the trial. No doubt walking into a rape crisis center- only to come face to face with a man publicly accused of the crime- had been more than a little alarming. Spencer coughed slightly, and Lassiter grabbed his upper arm.
"Here, you should get to a bathroom and clean up."
"Ib can do ib byselb."
Not one to stand in the way of bleeding progress, Lassiter stepped back as the other man levered himself upright with one hand on the wall- leaving behind a morbid, and slightly streaked, flower of red on the off-white paint.
Quickly easing away from the receptionist, Spencer accepted the crutch back that had found a temporary home under a potted plant, and gingerly limped his way down the hall to the bathroom.
By now, a few other employees had gathered, including an older woman in a blue blouse and jacket whose demeanor strongly identified her as someone in charge.
"Hello, Marilyn Goldman." She held out her hand briefly. "Would you mind joining me in my office for just a moment?"
Lassiter dropped her hand, slightly confused. "I really should wait…"
"It'll just take a moment."
Shrugging, he followed. Her office was just a short distance down a hallway dotted with the sort of schmaltzy encouragement posters he'd seen in the therapist's office back when he was still struggling to deny his marriage had failed. He wouldn't have been surprised to see one of a sad faced puppy with the caption 'Tomorrow is a Better Day'.
The office itself was more professional, though tastefully embellished with a few plants and several framed photos on the desk.
Marilyn sat down in her chair, gesturing to one of the soft guest chairs before her.
I'll get right to the point, I know you don't want to keep your friend waiting any longer than necessary."
"Friend? I'm not sure you know who I…"
"Head detective Carlton Lassiter of the SBPD? Your… as Shawn puts it, 'strong Irish hairline' was a bit of a give-away."
Lassiter quirked a brow. "When was Spencer talking about me? Better yet, why?"
"After his session today, his counselor was concerned because apparently Shawn is showing signs of regression. He hasn't had any interest in participating in the group sharing exercise- and no attempts to reach out to him have met with any success."
Lassiter crossed his arms, resisting the urge to check his watch. So Spencer didn't want to talk about his assault… honestly, he couldn't blame the guy.
"I know that Shawn's father was taken back to the hospital last night. This means Shawn will be alone for the first time since his attack. I'm very concerned about his state of mind considering he's already made one attempt on his life."
Carlton sighed. "Look, I'm not a babysitter… he already has a best friend…"
"Burton Guster? Shawn mentioned him to me. It seems they've had a bit of a falling out… and now they aren't talking to one another. Look, detective, the thing is- you are one of only five people Shawn tells me he trusts implicitly… and one of only three that he considers a close friend."
The detective sat back slowly… shocked speechless. Spencer thought of him as a friend? A close friend??
"I'm worried that he has no one to reach out to right now… he desperately needs support from those around him. I'm asking you, please, just offer him your friendship. Let him know he isn't alone… that there are still people who care about him."
Mute, Lassiter was unaware for a moment that the little chat had come to a close until Goldman stood and walked to the door. "Thank you for your time. I hope we see you here again."
Pulling himself numbly to his feet, the detective turned down the hall and headed back to the waiting area.
Spencer was hovering by the row of heavily cushioned chairs when he reentered the room. His nose had swollen some, and a distinct fist shape had formed in deep purple on the left side of the abused appendage. The bleeding had stopped, but there were still a few traces remaining on the edge of his nostril. No doubt it was painful work trying to clean up.
"Let's go." Said Lassiter as he brushed past the other man.
Spencer followed without a word, his crutch making a soft thump, thump, thump on the commercial carpeting.
0o0o0o0o0
"Where are we gobing?"
Lassiter frowned. "Spencer, I've been driving for three seconds, you shouldn't be asking me that yet."
"Ib you were gobing back to the hosbitle you'b have turbed aroub' first."
Carlton sighed, rubbing his eyes briefly. "I have no idea what I'm doing. Just trust me okay?"
A small nod, and then the man scratched his arm. "Oo' you think you coulb oo' me a favor…?"
"Dammit Spencer, I will not keep playing Secret Keeper between you and your father!"
"Actually, Ib was just going to seeb if you coulb drop me off at the house after."
Lassiter ground his teeth. "Fine. How long were you planning to stay at the hospital?"
The young man shrugged. "I bon't know… a couble of hours I guess."
There was no further comment as Spencer laid his head back against the seat and closed his eyes. The detective looked him over quickly while he rested. Damn, that had to hurt. And he didn't miss the way the guy was rubbing a hand across his ribs either.
Turning his eyes back to the road, Lassiter clenched the wheel tightly, a used but still true phrase lodged in his head. He did not get paid enough.
0o0o0o0o0
"If you're going to relax- you can do it my way. And I don't knit."
Spencer lifted the small revolver carefully, eyeing the distant target. "You sure gibing a post-suibicibal man a loabed gub is a wise idea?"
"No. Which is why the bullets are rubber. But feel free, I'm sure you could probably still kill yourself with that." He lined up for a shot. "And not that I would EVER give you a loaded gun anyhow- I get the feeling you prefer the more dramatic route considering how you went all 'Girl Interrupted' last time."
He admitted he was a little surprised at the congested chuckles he heard.
Then, turning back to his own target, he pressed the tiny buds in his ears and sighted down the length of steel. After that, all he thought about was the placement of little round holes.
Some time later, after having expended about three clips apiece, they hit the retrieve buttons and waited while the peppered targets trundled slowly forward. Spencer pulled off his first, having arrived just seconds before Lassiter's. Ignoring the other man while he examined his own grouping, Lassiter heard a faint crushing sound. Turning, pulling out his ear plugs, he saw the wadded remains of the other man's target land in a nearby receptacle.
"That was great… canb I go to the hosbidle now?"
Without waiting, the other man set his spent gun on the counter in front of Lassiter and made for the exit.
Brow wrinkled, Lassiter walked back to the trash can and lifted out the crumpled paper.
Unfolding it, he blinked.
It was perfect.
0o0o0o0o0
It felt vacant… being back in the house. All the sounds that were normally discarded now magnified around him.
Even with his presence in the room, it felt absent of life.
He'd ended up staying at the hospital for three hours, part of the time spent trying to explain what had happened to his face. A very sympathetic nurse had offered him an ice pack, and the sensation of the chilled plastic against his skin had been heavenly.
Finally, though, his father had started to drift off, and he knew it was time to go.
In the car, heading back to the house, Lassiter had repeatedly given him long looks. It was more than unnerving. "What?" He asked in weary irritation, feeling for an odd moment like he and the detective had suddenly exchanged personalities.
"You look like hell."
Okay, definitely no exchange. Though the idea of channeling the other man was equally unappealing to contemplate.
Lassiter turned away, gripping the wheel of the unmarked vehicle. His brows were furrowed, and there was the strangest look in his eyes… like he'd bought a carton of eggs only to find the package stuffed with hand grenades.
Brushing aside the other man's contemplation, Shawn turned to face towards the window, bringing up one hand to pinch at his stuffed nose. "OUCH!"
"What?"
"Nothing." Dammit. Okay, note to self. Crunched cartilage equals no tampering. However, the congestion was still there, and judging by the way it made his fingers twitch, he had a feeling this was a lesson that would require remedial classes.
"Look, Spencer…"
God, he wanted to talk…
"I'll be fine…"
"Just shut up."
He glanced over in surprise, but Lassiter was still facing forward, long fingers twisting in discomfort on the ridged edge of the wheel.
"I'm not… I'm not good with... I don't do buddy talks." He stopped again, and Shawn watched him in mute curiosity. Buddy?
"Your father isn't going to be around for a few days. You won't have someone at the house to keep an eye on you. I just want you to consider what it will do to Henry if he arrives home just to find you'd made a dramatic exit on living room carpet."
Shawn looked out the front window. "I'm… I'm not going to…"
"If you try, I will follow through with my promise to put a bullet in you."
Shawn's forehead wrinkled. "I can't tell you how on how many levels that bosen't bake sense."
Unsmiling, the detective pulled to a stop in front of the house, setting the vehicle in park before turning sideways.
"Promise me."
Shawn scratched his wrist, exhaling heavily as he looked out the passenger window towards his father's home. Finally, nodding, he glanced at the other man. "I promise."
Now, standing in the living room, he leaned on his crutch and stared at the dark television screen in front of him.
Well he'd better get comfortable, he had a strong feeling sleep would not be welcome for several nights.
0o0o0o0o0
Karen grinned as she dropped the phone back to her desk.
Thank God, thank God!
Walking swiftly to the glass door of her office, she yanked it open, scanning until she located the blonde head of Juliet O'Hara bent over her desk, pen moving rapidly over a file.
"O'Hara!"
The younger woman looked up with a slight cringe. Good Lord, one reprimand and a small accusation of harassment from a misunderstanding over a dessert and the detective practically flailed when she was addressed by her Chief.
"My office."
Biting her lip, tucking her file in a drawer, the detective approached warily, her arms stiffly at her sides as she entered the room.
Shutting the door, Vick moved to stand in front of the other woman. "Where's your partner?"
"He… he went to pick up Shawn from the hospital and give him a ride home. Chief, what's going on?"
"I just received a call from Martha Clark. They're dropping the case against Mr. Spencer."
O'Hara's eyes widened. "They… Oh my God that's wonderful! I'll call detective Lassiter right away! What about Shawn, does he know yet? And Henry? Oh, and Gus needs to be called too!"
Karen smiled at the younger woman's enthusiasm. "I'll let you take care of spreading the good cheer. I've got my own calls to make."
Letting a much more enthusiastic detective leave her office, Karen walked back around her desk. Her face smoothed out, eyes hardening as she lifted the receiver a second time. Now that that Spencer's trial couldn't be used as an arguing point by whatever lawyer the Fraternal Order managed to find- it was time to begin the process of setting up Officer Smart with brand new accommodations. Preferably ones that included evenly spaced bars.
0o0o0o0o0
Four a.m.
Twice, in spite of the stimulation of a late night Mothra marathon, Shawn had fallen asleep on the couch. Both times, he drifted into a dank and flickering room- pain shooting through his leg and side- struggling weakly beneath Mae as she pressed the gun into his cheek… tore at his waistband… forced her body over him…
Twice he woke up gasping, clawing towards the familiar emptiness of the room around him.
The second time he jerked out of the dream-memory, he'd dragged himself to his feet, limping awkwardly across the room and towards the stairs. A shower… definitely a shower. And after the shower, lots and lots of coffee. Breathing through his mouth, his nose still stinging, he grabbed the railing with one hand and started up the carpeted stairs.
He also made a fierce resolution. No matter what. When tomorrow came, he was going to call Gus. Maybe, if he apologized stringently enough, his friend would forgive him. And maybe he wouldn't have to spend another night with just his own head for company.
0o0o0o0o0
Shawn hovered over the sink a little longer, his hands braced on the porcelain edges. The T shirt and jeans he'd slipped into after drying clung to him uncomfortably. Still, he'd put up with it. He hated being exposed for any length of time these days, regardless of the reason.
He felt drained… completely hollowed out from the whipsaw emotions incurred by the trial- not to mention everything that had come before.
Part of him just wished he could lay down and never wake up again… without the dreams. But he couldn't do that. He'd made a promise… to Lassiter of all people… that he'd try.
But it was so hard.
Sighing, he splashed some more water on his face, clearing away the rest of the shaving cream. He hadn't shaved in… well a while, and he'd decided if he was going to take a shower, he might as well get rid of his beard too. And it really did feel good- save for the two spots where he'd nicked himself. Well he should have expected a few minor lacerations- the shower had been skin-reddening hot, and consequently, the mirror had fogged over. Even wiping it off didn't help much as the suspended moisture just beaded over the surface again.
Yawning widely, reaching out blindly, he felt for the towel-rack.
Two hands grasped his skull, driving him forward to smash into the mirror. A spiderweb of cracks snapped out from the point of impact, along with a light spray of blood drops. Collapsing instantly, he flopped loosely to the tile floor, his hands resting on either side of his head.
Rubber soles squeaked, and coughing weakly, he tried to force his eyes to focus. But he couldn't see anything beyond the new pair of Nike's and jean covered legs. Something salty was dripping across his lip… metallic, coppery. He wanted to wipe it away, but his arms were still trying to remember how they connected to his body.
"Funny how we always seem to end up in a bathroom together."
His mind suggested that he knew that voice…
The sneakers squeaked again as they passed in front of his eyes, pacing over the wet floor, leaving ghost impressions in the fading moisture.
"You know… I considered approaching this a different way… seeing just how fun you might be. But then… I am far more interested in having you suffer. And I don't want to do anything that might possibly bring you pleasure. Especially considering your proclivities in that area."
Shawn blinked suddenly.
Smart…
Spitting out a mouthful of blood, he gasped when fingers dug into his hair, yanking him to his knees. Clawing at thick wrists, he panted in fear as a mouth pressed close to his earlobe, the other hand wrapping loosely around his throat.
"However… I might still reconsider. I guess it all depends on how quickly you can get to a phone." His hand bumped over the chain around Shawn's neck, then slid down his front.
"GET OFF ME YOU PEVERTED FUCK!" Shawn swung his arm, burying his elbow in the other man's gut. It wasn't a powerful blow, but it was enough to loosen the hold on his hair. Tearing free with a few twangy snaps, he grabbed the sink with one hand and stumbled out of the room.
Struggling for every breath, he made it to the stairs- half falling as his abused body made a determined effort to send him the rest of the way on his ass. Hitting the base of the stairs in a crumbling half-fall, he tripped over his own feet as he tried to lunge towards the living room.
He got as far as the divide between carpet and wood floor when a blow between his shoulder blades sent him chest first against the back of the couch. Rolling, fighting grimly for every pull of breath, he slid down to the floor and pressed his back against the rough fabric.
Through his pain, he could hear a rhythmic hollow thunk as something wooden dropped with repeated tripping cadence on the hard floor.
"They'll be sending me to jail… did you know that? I caught that little snippet this afternoon. First, a week of unpaid leave. Now, ha, I'm looking at actual time… all courtesy of the HD and his little psychic fuck boy."
'Thunk'
Shawn somehow pried his eyes apart, focusing his skittering gaze on the thick shape standing a few feet away. Smart was holding something… something long and tapered…
The other man chuckled. "I found this in your garage… reminded me of little league. I'm guessing you won't have the same associations though."
'Thunk'
"Wait…" Shawn brought up one hand, pressing even more tightly against the back of the couch.
"Ooohh… do you need some time to beg? It's fine… we have a little time… and I want this to last a while." Smart still stood in front of him, repetitively dropping the head of the bat against the floor, letting it bounce slightly before lifting it again.
"If you kill me it's a death penalty…"
'Thunk'
Blood ran into his eyes, and Shawn moved his hand to wipe it away.
"Well I really don't plan to kill you."
The bat struck his ribs, throwing him to the floor and reducing his cry of pain to a shallow wheeze. There was no time to recover as another blow struck him in the middle of the back. "GHUUUHH!"
He curled his fingers as he tried to drag himself away, but a rough kick knocked his elbow out from under him. "Stop!"
"Kid, I've been wanting this for longer than you can know."
He was aware that was screaming raggedly as the crushing strikes began falling with regularity. At one point, he heard a thick crunch as a hit impacted his right arm. It seemed to last forever. Sensation scattered, and the only way he knew he was still being beaten was the smacking sound the bat made as it slammed into his flesh.
Then, suddenly, it was over.
He couldn't move. He barely breathed. But he was very aware that he hadn't passed out as the other man, gasping now from exertion, crouched down in front of him.
"If I wanted to… you couldn't stop me from taking you. You know that."
He grabbed Shawn's chin, pulling his face to the side.
"As it is… I have… other commitments..."
Then the disgraced cop stood. Shawn could hear something… a whistling sound… and then an agonizing explosion in his cheek…